


Strange Little Creatures

by Way_Out_There



Category: The Other Boleyn Girl - Philippa Gregory
Genre: Coming of Age, Romance, Tudor England so an underage relationship :/, historical fiction - Freeform, so I wrote this, we just needed a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Way_Out_There/pseuds/Way_Out_There
Summary: Catherine Carey hadn't assumed that falling in love would be part of her story, but she's not opposed to it.





	Strange Little Creatures

_She likes mornings._

It was strange waking up before everyone else at court. Catherine always liked watching the sun drip through the thick curtains, but she didn’t like the feeling of silence despite the fact that she was in a crowded room. Court was always a place of gossip and flirting and it felt wrong to see it silent. 

Out in the country, it felt more normal not to hear chatter. Still, there was always noise, be it wind or animals. Catherine loved waking up before everyone else and watching sunlight fall through the windows, and liked it even better when she woke early enough to watch the sun begin its majestic rise. The world of color presented to her seemed glorious and infallible, and she could pretend to forget that Father and milady Anne were dead. 

She liked running outside with bare feet, in the dresses that were too short and didn’t get wet at the hem, and she liked the feeling of dewy grass beneath her as she ran across the fields. She liked the feelings of solitude and she liked how big the world felt. She loved the chirping of insects and the sound of songbirds as they came out with the sun. 

Catherine especially liked the songs that the gave. She tried singing sometimes, but that made Edward cover his ears in a way that wasn’t quite joking and she knew that she wasn’t particularly talented. Mama was, though, and milord Stafford sometimes called her his little songbird. Then Mama would smile up at him and Catherine loved watching the love in their eyes but also felt like she was looking in on a statue of something she would never really be a part of. Edward and Anne and Mama and milord Stafford made a good family, and with Henry gone most of the time, she felt alone. 

So it was nice to be alone by choice, out in the eternal morning where no one cared if she hummed out of tune. 

XXXXX

_She likes rabbits._

They tasted good and were one of Henry’s favorite foods. But Catherine mostly liked them when they were still alive. She didn’t get to go hunting for them, but there were some rabbits that dwelled at the edge of the garden and fields and ate at the green things growing there. The tenants treated them as nuisances, and Catherine knew that they could be destructive, but she liked to watch their little bodies shiver constantly under the force of their own heartbeats. She liked watching at the little black eyes as they darted around, looking for threats, and she liked the little pink noses as they snuffled and sniffed. 

She realized that milord Stafford was watching her and was embarrassed because she was thirteen and was above these kinds of things. And anyway, it was always strange around him, because she liked him and knew that he didn’t mind her but he wasn’t her father, and there would always be that discontent because what man could be happy with a child that wasn’t his? Catherine’s father, William Carey, certainly had lived with that discontent. And then milord Stafford just had to bring it up at supper that day. 

“Edward likes rabbits, too,” Stafford assured her, and Catherine went bright red and stared down at the table because Edward was three and she so much older than him, couldn't Stafford see that?! 

“Anne certainly enjoys chasing rabbits,” Mama said, trying to break the tension. 

Catherine didn’t say a thing. She could feel hot tears budding in her eyes and hated herself for crying, because she was thirteen, already with her courses, a woman already, really, a lady who had stayed with the former Queen Anne in the tower, maybe even the daughter of Henry VIII (though no one would ever say that). And here she was, crying like little baby Anne, like a stupid child. 

No one said a thing for the rest of supper. 

A few weeks later, milord Stafford was working on something with wood and nails. Catherine went out to the edge of their garden when he was working on it one evening. 

She stood there for a few moments silently until Stafford said, “it’s a hutch.” 

“What, milord?” 

“A rabbit hutch. And really, Catherine, you don’t need to call me milord.” 

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said, feeling young and stupid and knowing that she was both of those things. 

Stafford stood up and stretched. “I think that this’ll be a nice place to keep rabbits. Would you like to tend them?” 

Catherine knew that she wasn’t allowed to talk back to Stafford, she wasn’t allowed to talk back to men at all, or to talk back to anyone, but she couldn’t help but burst out, “shouldn’t Edward do that?” 

“I’m sure he’d like your help,” Stafford said. 

Catherine wished he’d just drop the point, so she acquiesced, giving a tiny, humiliated nod, and he awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, and she looked down at her stupid bare feet and the dress that wasn’t long enough and at how her legs were too spindly and browned and knew that she really was just a stupid immature little girl. 

“I wouldn’t mind tending rabbits, either,” milord Stafford said. “Perhaps you could be there to rein Edward and I in if we get too invested.” 

Catherine looked up at him, and he smiled down at her, and then the tension was broken. 

XXXXX

_She likes jewels._

She might have been spindly-legged, short-dressed little Cat when it cam to Henry and to everyone who knew her, but in 1538 she was 14 years old and back at court and she was a young woman, and she couldn’t tear her eyes off of the jewels that the ladies all wore. Necklaces dripping with sapphires, garnet rings, bracelets with four or five emeralds strung together with gold—it was a world of color and shine that Catherine, wearing a long gown, couldn’t resist. 

She knew that men used jewels to rule over women around them and didn’t want to be one of the ladies who was bought by something as simple. But in the end, she was just a woman, and jealously watched the other ladies as they dressed. 

Mama seemed to notice this, and gave her a simple silver necklace with a ruby pendant (no Boleyn will ever again wear pearls). Catherine liked the simplicity of it and the way that it stood out against her pale English skin. She knew that she should be happy with it. Still, she couldn’t help but wish that she had more, that she had diamonds and pearls and topaz and was dripping in jewels and that people would look at her and notice, look at her and be blown away. 

XXXXX

_She likes Francis._

They were waiting for the newest queen to arrive and Catherine made an offhand comment about waiting for the poppies to bloom when summer returned again. A few of the other ladies made jibes about not waiting for the roses to return, and one of them got dangerously close to questioning Catherine’s parentage. Catherine’s cheeks burned, and she turned to the window, pressing her nose to it. 

That was when she heard a voice declare that while he liked roses, he liked tulips, too, and later that night Catherine exchanged some words about flowers with Francis Knollys. It was silly and childish and he must have been at least twenty-five to Catherine’s fifteen, and at the end of the night he made an offhand promise to bring her some flowers when spring came again. 

She looked up at him, stupidly confused. “Sir Francis?” 

“Do you not like flowers, Mistress Carey?” 

“I like them perfectly well, sir.” Catherine’s face was burning. She knew that as a Howard, she should have been better at flirting, better at interacting with people in general, better at everything, really, and she knew that Francis Knollys was just counting the moments until he could leave her. 

“Then you shall not object if I bring you flowers.” 

What was he saying, what was he saying, was he trying to court her or just being friendly, and why was Catherine so stupid?! If only she had her mother’s talents, if only she could be confident like Henry or Edward, if only she was anyone but herself! “I shall not object, sir.” Only it comes out as more of a question. 

Francis laughed, he’s laughing at me, what do I do, and spoke again. Catherine tried to focus on the fact that his voice was rather rough, not at all seductive or romantic, so he wasn’t perfect either. “Shall I bring you poppies? Roses? It seems a shame that I cannot make flowers last forever.” 

“But then they would not be flowers, sir.” 

“Would you not want flowers that lasted forever?” His gaze was questioning, and Catherine knew that she was making such a fool of herself, Will Sommers might as well not need a job. 

“Other things last forever,” Catherine tried to explain, the words stumbling on their way out. “Jewels, and castles, and such things. Flowers don’t need to last forever.” 

“Still, it seems a shame to me that we cannot view bluebells in midwinter.” 

“How would we know how beautiful the summer was if we did not have such things to remind us?” Suddenly, it seemed easier to talk. “I look forward to the flowers 

when summer returns to us, Sir Francis.” 

“And I look forward to the summer, Mistress Catherine.” 

She smiled up at him with a bit of a blush and with brown eyes that for once, Catherine didn’t hate because they weren’t blue or green. “I look forward to it as well.” 

XXXXX

_She likes children._

Henry wasn’t exactly a child anymore, and she barely ever got to see him, but whenever she did, they fell into the old grooves like a wheelbarrow through a field, and the talk flowed naturally. And every time they met, he proved how mature and how much of a man he was, and she felt that much more insecure, but in the end he was small and looking for approval and always her little brother. 

Edward and Anne might were only her half-siblings, but Catherine loved them with everything in her. She loved watching them grow up and take new steps every day. She loved watching their wonder at the world and thinking about whether she was ever that innocent and confused. She loved it when Edward threw himself into her arms because she was the only person who will still let him sit on her knee like a child, because Edward was four, and Mama and Stafford both treated him like a boy. 

She had only met Elizabeth a few times, but Elizabeth was so much smarter than a child should be, always asking questions and listening hard and then saying things that made Catherine feel like a fool, like she was no smarter than her cousin Kitty Howard. Still, she liked how Elizabeth treated her with deference, and liked helping Elizabeth learn new things and explore the world. It could be painful to watch Elizabeth and wonder what her future would be and whether their pasts overlapped a bit more than simply being cousins, and it could be painful to wonder if she might have been Lady Catherine if things had gone slightly differently. (She really was a fool for wondering that, Catherine would rather have Mama than all the jewels in the world.) Catherine just hoped that she could be there for Elizabeth in the future. 

And Catherine was fifteen and knew that it couldn’t be long until she was allowed to have children of her own. She wondered when it would be and what they would be like. 

She had to stop herself from thinking about Francis’s features, because he really was a handsome man, and had to stop herself from thinking about how he was always kind and patient and ready to teach someone. And then Mama mentioned to Stafford that Francis was like them when it came to liturgy, and really, could it get more perfect?! 

Catherine reminded herself to stop acting like Dorothy Bray and to focus on her needlework. 

XXXXX

_She likes hills._

She hadn’t been on very many court progresses yet, but was excited to see Cranborne Chase when court finally went on the move. She hadn’t seen very many hills, either, and couldn’t wait. She liked the idea of being up on the top of a mountain, touching the sky. High places seemed to call out to her, but of course she couldn’t think of towers without remembering her time in the most famous one, and then she got the horrible feeling of being trapped. You couldn’t be trapped on a mountain. With a mountain, you were above it all and you always had somewhere to run. 

It doesn’t hurt that she heard Francis Knollys mention that he liked mountains as well. 

She could barely think of him without blushing. 

XXXXX

_She likes Anne (of Cleves)._

Perhaps because she’s just a stupid girl, Catherine thought that maybe 1540 would be the perfect year. With the new, legendary Queen Anne of Cleves entering England, they might finally make the Reformation come to fruition. And Francis Knollys seemed to be showing her attention, perhaps not especial attention, but attention nonetheless. He complimented her dresses, and when Catherine pointed out that she was just rewearing the same few, he told her that they were still beautiful, especially on such a wearer. 

And then Queen Anne of Cleves came to court (such hubbub, such excitement! The exact opposite of the rise of the other Anne, really—she had been there without anyone noticing just how wonderful she was, and had taken everyone by surprise. People had wanted Anne of Cleves). 

She was a bit standoffish, a bit lumpish in her German dresses, but she was perfectly polite and respectful, and Catherine thought that she was probably the image of what a good princess should look like. No Katherine of Aragon, according to Mama, but then again, who was? No, Anne of Cleves would be the queen the country needed. And then the King declared his dislike, and all Catherine could think was, poor, poor girl. Because there could be no good ending for Anne of Cleves, and after only a few weeks of knowing her, Catherine had learned to love Anne of Cleves’s strange accent and dresses and to love her kindness and patience and goodness. Catherine didn’t want her to die. 

At Mama’s orders, Catherine stayed silent through the whole affair. She knew that nothing good came of interlopers. She knew that every day at court was a day where your whole life was teetering at the brink of disaster. As much as Catherine liked Anne of Cleves, she liked her life more. 

She watched with quiet respect as Anne of Cleves navigated her way through accusations and trials and contracts and came out on top. She quietly marvelled at the success the woman had been met with. She privately rejoiced for Anne’s success. 

And then she quietly went back to being a pliant, obedient lady-in-waiting for Queen Katherine Howard, wondering when the knife would drop. 

XXXXX

_She likes wine._

Not really, actually. But no one needed to know that. 

Francis Knollys brought her a glass of wine one night and handed it to her. They were friendly, of course, but not familiar. She took a sip of it, because he was older than her and must have expected her to be just as old as he was. She didn’t like it particularly, but if Francis liked it, then it must have been good. 

“How have you been lately?” she asked him. 

“I do well,” he answered. “New questions have crossed my horizons, I must admit. But still, I find that my days are happy.” 

Things certainly were merry at Queen Katherine Howard’s court. Not that that made Catherine like it more than Anne of Cleves’s court. 

“That is good, Sir Francis. I hope that these questions find resolution.” 

He was watching Queen Katherine Howard through unfathomable eyes and Catherine felt a twinge of jealousy, and then a bit of pride that she and he had identified the same problem. Katherine Howard was a disaster waiting to happen. 

“What of you?” he asked, turning to her, the other Catherine. “How do you like the new queen?” 

“I like her well,” Catherine answered carefully, knowing how dangerous the question was. “She is of my family, of course, though very distant. She is pleasant enough, and...merry.” 

Francis gave her a worried smile that let her know he understood exactly what she meant. “And the king seems happy as well.” 

“That is good. We should always pray for the happiness of our soveign.” 

“And I do. I think of my own happiness too.” 

It was a surprising segue, and Catherine felt her heart speed up. She didn’t want to think about what he could mean. 

“I like to think that we all should be happy,” Catherine said. Or, as happy as they could be in a court where they lived in fear. 

“As do I. Have you seen the flowers?” 

Catherine laughed. “I have. Our queen loves roses. The king sends her some, as a surprises. And there are daisies everywhere. I love looking out the windows at midday and seeing the fields covered with white. And in the very early mornings, I look out the window and see that the daisies have closed up.” 

“Flowers can be strange sometimes,” Francis declared as if it was an epiphany. 

“Yes, they can,” Catherine agreed. “And there are rabbits too, of course. Every year around this time, I can no longer tell the young rabbits from the old.” 

“Do you like rabbits, Mistress Catherine?” 

“My siblings do,” Catherine confided. 

“But do you?” 

“I suppose that I do.” 

XXXXX

_She likes Francis._

“You said that yesterday,” Jane Cheney said, rolling her eyes. 

“Did I?” Catherine said. “I didn’t recall.” 

“Perhaps you didn’t say it. Perhaps it’s just obvious.” 

“I like being his friend,” Catherine said, to clarify any misconceptions that Jane had come away with. 

“Is that what you are? How can he stand it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t understand how any man could stand being friends with a woman. We are so strange to them, after all. How could we ever hope to match them? They must be so bored with us and our frivolities.” 

Catherine bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything foolish and turned away so that Jane couldn’t see her blush. 

The problem was that she liked Francis Knollys just a bit too much. 

XXXXX

_She likes dresses._

But today she simply can’t focus. 

When Francis asked Stafford for his blessing, Catherine thought that her heart would burst. She couldn’t imagine being married to such a man for the rest of her life, and she met that in all the best ways. She would get to be married to him, to talk with him for the rest of her life, to have children with him and live with him and the ideas were glorious. Maybe, just maybe, Catherine was going to find her happiness like Mama had with Stafford. 

The ceremonies had gone ahead smoothly, with a bit of a rush put in it by Mama, who seemed to be afraid of any large shifts in court life. But Catherine didn’t mind any of that. She couldn’t wait for things to be made official. Mama had been married at twelve, after all, and Catherine knew that it was long past time that she was finally secured. 

But now...Catherine was panicking. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Mama assured her. 

“It’s not,” Catherine fretted. 

“What could be wrong?” 

Catherine knew that Mama wasn’t actually asking for an answer. A woman’s lot was to be married, no matter to whom, and Catherine was simply lucky that she was getting a man that she could love. 

“It’s...the dress,” Catherine said, holding back tears. 

“What about it, Cat?” 

Catherine could feel herself reaching, stumbling. “It’s too...too tight!” 

“Catherine.” Mama touched Catherine’s face with her cool hands. “Catherine. Oh, my Catherine. It’s going to be alright. I promise.” 

“Oh, Mama!” 

Catherine threw herself into Mama’s arms like she was two and not a woman of sixteen. Mama didn’t object, hugging Catherine and rubbing her arms, cooing small comforting words. 

“Mama,” Catherine said with a bit of a whine. 

“Oh, Catherine.” Mama stood, dragging Catherine upwards with her, and Catherine was proud and horrified that she was taller than Mama was. But that was it, wasn’t it? Catherine was finally a woman, a beautiful woman, Howard and Boleyn and perhaps Tudor and someone who could truly be proud. 

“Mama…” Catherine searched for a word, any word, but Mama seemed to understand. 

“It’s going to be alright, Catherine. I promise.” 

XXXXX

_She likes nights._

The July night was warm and air drifted in from the outside. Catherine’s stomach was churning, her face red, her palms sweaty. She gripped the skirt of her wedding dress and waited for Francis to enter. 

Finally, he did. “Mistress Knollys.” 

Catherine felt a thrill at the words and let out a small laugh, instantly terrified that the laugh would warn Francis that she was just a silly little girl and not the person he thought he had married himself to. “Husband.” 

Francis let out a big laugh and then let himself fall onto the bed, bouncing slightly. It was the most childish that she had seen him, and she laughed, too. He handed her a small glass of wine, and she took a sip of it, trying to calm herself. 

“Catherine—” he laughed a bit. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to simply call you Catherine. I like it.” 

“Francis,” she said, trying the word out. “I like it as well.” 

“Catherine, are you ready for this?” 

Catherine had a thousand doubts, a million doubts, but she quelled them. “Yes. Give me...a moment.” 

“Of course.” 

The moment lasted several minutes, and then Catherine had drained the cup, and the next morning they did not awake early.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished watching The Tudors, and that in combination with Philippa Gregory made me think, "Jesus fucking Christ, no one here gets a happy ending." So I just wanted to write some cute fluffy shit between Catherine and Francis because goddammit, I wanted them to have a happy ending. If we could all ignore how creepy their relationship is by today's standards, I'd be much obliged. No idea if anyone actually reads Tudor-themed works, but I'd love any comments!


End file.
